Mytwosentences 159 (The Preston Tapley Chronicles)

wp-image-333380746jpg.jpg

As he gathered himself, Preston wasn’t sure if his shakey hand was a result of the blurry shape closing the distance or simply something else.

He continued to look directly at the solid unlocked door, even as his nosey neighbor was now only feet away wearing suspender-held cargo shorts and a smelly t-shirt.

(Continued from Mytwosentences 158)

(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 158 (The Preston Tapley Chronicles)

wp-image-333380746jpg.jpg

Preston was about to slide the not so shiny brass key back into his sweaty pocket when his diminished periphery caught sight of someone.

That second sound, the one that gave him a spine wriggling shrill, was wearing on him as his glazed attention finally began to focus on Mick and his unbrushed teeth getting closer.

(Continued from Mytwosentences 157)

(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 157 (The Preston Tapley Chronicles)

Mr. Mahoney, Mick, to the nine pudgy ladies at the sallow St.Wiseman recreation center two streets over, gave a quick wave to a discombobulated Mr. Tapley who kind of noticed him, but not really.

Mick, who sees all, at least in this neighborhood, placed the warm and oft empty Coors Light can down on what nicely passed for homemade front steps, then walked across his carefully groomed lawn to initiate what would likely become an important handshake.

(Continued from Mytwosentences 156)

(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 156 (The Preston Tapley Chronicles)

While strangely stretching clouds continued to fold upward, Preston started a nondeliberate step toward the massive chipped red door of his newly acquired house.

As his shadow began to draw long on the brittle of his parched lawn, a second undefinable sound, seemingly from the backyard this time, widened his splintered eyes.

(Continued from Mytwosentences 149)

(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 155

  • The young and stringy single mother sat at a square block table and thought about those 1950’s malt shop days when her ironworker husband built a senseless stick boundary out of spite.
  •  Her step uncle, who had lived next door, dove into the shallow stones of Coleman Creek soon after that insignificant property fence became the sole beam of rampant sibling speculation.
  • (Photo: Edward Roads)
  • Written by Edward Roads 

Mytwosentences 154

He was a stout man with thick fingers who willingly engaged your ear, although following his hackneyed conversation style was akin to skipping alongside Dorothy through an endless field of soporific poppies.

With a great big beer belly that was kept snuggly in place by faded green suspenders, the grizzled ex-landscaper could be seen almost every morning tending to his retirement project while periodically sipping from an oversized mug of coffee.

(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads 

Mytwosentences 152

The terminally sick farm boy, who was no more than five, impatiently prattled from a smushed back seat beset with nacho chip crumbs and a warm helping of afternoon orange/yellow sunsplash.

Without mouthing a single word, which in most circles would be considered perfectly normal, he blearily windowed the continuous zip of painted white road slashes and loosely held a hopeful grip on moist and falling apart animal crackers.

(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads